Truth Be Told
by Carrie The Mary Sue Slayer
Summary: Ponyboy doesn't dig Shakespeare. He doesn't dig the odd kid, Charles Sanders, either. Put them together, can it get any worse?


**Autho's Note: Just to clarify, this story isn't a slash. Basically, I just felt a scosche tired of all these OFC running around, so I decided to make an OMC. This, by the way, takes place a little over a year and a half after The Outsiders and a couple months after That Was Then, This Is Now. Ponyboy is sixteen.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own a bit. All belongs to S.E Hinton, non-negotiable. Well except for my characters and the plot. **

One

Chewing on my pencil nervously, I was watching the clock. As the second hand ticked by, I counted the minutes down. My lined paper looked so unorganized and messy compared to my neighbour's. Meaningless doodles covered the once-blank and my mouth had pulled into a frown. I didn't understand the assignment. It had something to do with Shakespeare, man, I don't dig that guy. English used to be my favourite subject, but as of now, I wasn't too sure about that.

Mr. Higgins, my grade ten teacher, was waving a white piece of paper in my general direction. I could make out the big block letters that spelled out my name. I chewed on my lip and snapped my attention to the teacher. "Mr. Curtis," he was saying, "out of the clouds now?"

There was a slight titter and I nodded. He was shaking a brown paper bag under my nose. I looked at him, trying to hint that I had no idea what was going on. "Yeah?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Adjusting his orange tie, he muttered something under his breath and reached his hand into the bag. Pulling out a paper, similar to what mine had looked like, he flipped it open and showed it to the class. "Charles Sanders." He announced and I inwardly groaned while the rest of the class smirked at me.

Remembering that there was suppose to be some project done, I also remembered that it was to be done in partners. I didn't mind that part so much (well the fact it involved Shakespeare, it did bother me a little), it was more the person for which I was working with.

Charles Sanders. More commonly known as Chico, despite the fact he wasn't Hispanic or anything. Chico, meaning boy, did have quite boyish features, which was probably what earned him his name. When he spoke, which was pretty rare, he used a soft tone one could barely hear. It wasn't that though. Chico wasn't grease, like me, and I guess you can say he was a Soc. I mean he came from a well-off family and lived more on the West end. He greased his blond hair into a perfect d.a and dressed sort of like a greaser, I think. He wore unbuttoned daddy-o shirts, set with a wife-beater and black jeans. At first glance, you'd think he would be a greaser, but he acts like neither.

I mean, he sure isn't a hood, and he never drinks or smokes (from what I've seen), he never jumped a greaser in his life and never attended Socials. He kept to himself all the time. For some reason, I could never figure why, was that he was a target for everyone, Socs and greasers. I felt a little sorry for the guy. But, it's no good for your social life to hang out with him. People avoided him like the plague.

I sat dumb for a while, forgetting about counting the seconds down, I wasn't too hot about the idea of working with Chico. For one thing, he doesn't seem to pay much attention in class, so I don't think he would know much about the project. A second thing, he was a Soc. Well, to tell you the truth, in the past year, there hasn't been much Soc vs greaser activity. But still, he had the money and I had the rough neighbourhood and the rough breaks.

The bell rang, I quickly gathered my books in a hurry. I ignored the fact that Chico was approaching me, I guess to find out what the project was about, I just went on. Went on to find the locker #594. By the time I was there, I had to quickly drop my books and comb my hair to make it decent. Slipping the comb back into my pocket, I looked around, seeing no sign of Chico.

"Ponyboy!" I let out a grin. Cathy and her pretty smile was coming this way. She had her curly hair up real nice, in a ponytail and her heart-shaped face open and bright. Gosh, she sure is pretty when she beams like that.

I tried to give a seductive smile, but failed miserably. "Hello, Cathy, you need someone to carry your books?"

"Yeah," she said, "that would be real nice, thanks."

Soda always said I'd find a nice girl some day. I guess these are the days I would. I held her books, along with mine, and we walked over to the student parking lot where my red '52 Chevy. It was the one Two-Bit had given to me after going to 'Nam. He said as long as I her clean her every weekend, she'd be mine. At least, until he returns.

The engine purred when I turned the key in the ingnition. I love the feel of this car. Sure, the brakes didn't work on me at times, but it was nothing Steve couldn't handle. It was Two-Bit's prize posession and I was glad that he trusted me with it.

As we cruised along the schoold driveway, I told Cathy about Chico. When I told her about my disappointment, to my surprise, she scolded me.

"Pony," she wrinkled her cute nose. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You don't even know him?"

I shook my head, my hand on the suicide knob. "Mark told me he was a queer."

Cathy, once again, looked disgusted. I remembered she doesn't like Mark too much. I steered at the left turn and thought of Mark. How was he doing up in the reform? I wasn't too sure what had happened, but I did know it was something about drugs. I felt sorry for the guy. I leaned over to Cathy and gave her a quick kiss. Then, I pushed Chico all the way out of my mind.


End file.
